


Non Sanctus

by draculard



Category: The Nun (2018)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Demon Sex, Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Angst, Priests, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shame, Valak as Daniel, Valak the Defiler does some defiling, although there's nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 10:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Even in his sleep, Father Burke flinches when he hears Daniel calling his name.





	Non Sanctus

_ Father_.

Even in his sleep, Father Burke flinches at the sound of Daniel’s voice. The cold from the stone abbey walls seeps into his bed like icy fingers picking through his clothes, brushing his skin. For a moment, he thinks someone warm is lying beside him, and he reaches for — for who? Sister Irene, asleep in the next room?

Or someone else, someone smaller? For just a moment, he could have sworn there was a child curled up next to him, seeking comfort after a nightmare. 

_ But you’re the one having a nightmare, _ said that voice again, all too familiar. Father Burke lay in bed, suddenly wide awake and tense. He could only stare up at the ceiling, too frightened to raise his head and see if anyone else was in the room. He _ knew _ someone was. He could feel them staring at him from the doorway. 

“Daniel?” he whispered. His voice came out cracked and broken. What he heard next was as good as an answer: bare feet running almost silently across the stones, away from Father Burke. The footsteps were light, made by someone small. 

Fear left him abruptly, sliding off him like water. He threw back the musty bedclothes, threw on his shoes and coat, and hurried after the boy, moving quietly so as not to wake Sister Irene. He could hear Daniel running from him somewhere in the distance, the sound just loud enough for him to follow. 

Outside his room, the walls of the abbey were open, full of large, glass-free windows looking out onto the courtyard and the forest beyond. There was frost on the air and fog hugging the dew-wet ground. The cold seemed to cut right through Father Burke’s coat.

He stopped, putting his hands on the frigid stone wall and peering down at the forest line. He could see a boy standing amongst the trees, waiting for him to follow; he couldn’t make out the features, but he was certain he recognized the form. 

It was impossible, he knew that. Daniel was dead.

But he’d witnessed miracles before, hadn’t he?

The walk down the abbey stairs and into the forest passed by in a blur of sensations — the sound of his shoes pounding on the ancient stones, the cold air biting his face and hands, the darkness swallowing him whole. He didn’t know where he was going. He could only follow Daniel, his footsteps now entirely silent on the forest floor, his position given away only by the occasional snap of a twig. 

Beams of light from the moon seemed to avoid Father Burke entirely. They skirted the edge of him, always failing to hit his path. 

It wasn’t until he stumbled into the abbey graveyard that he could truly see his surroundings. The trees receded away from the wooden crosses and lichen-covered stones; an eerie light suffused the acre or so of overgrown land. 

And there was Daniel, wearing the same homespun clothes he’d been wearing when he died, leaning against a weather-eroded sculpture of Saint Sebastian. The arrows in Sebastian’s ribs had broken off and crumbled into the dirt, leaving only a few little stumps sticking out of him like porcupine spines — but it was difficult to make any of that out with Daniel standing where he was, his back against Sebastian’s naked stomach. 

“Hello, Father Burke,” he said. His voice was clear and high, like the ringing of sanctus bells. Father Burke could feel himself reacting to it viscerally, his throat tightening as Daniel’s eyes bored into his.

“Daniel,” he said, mouth dry. His feet moved him forward against his will; he found himself kneeling on the frozen dirt and dry fallen leaves, a twig snapping beneath his knee. He was so close to Daniel he could touch him, but he didn’t. His hands hovered before him instead, like he couldn’t decide whether to grab Daniel by the shoulders or make the sign of the cross. 

In the end, his hands made the decision for him. _ “In nomine Patris,” _ Father Burke whispered, touching his hand to his forehead. “_Et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. _Amen.”

He brought his trembling fingers to his lips and kissed them as Daniel watched, a solemn smile on his face, his eyes dancing. His skin was pale as death.

“Daniel,” Father Burke breathed. He reached out, afraid to touch Daniel with his shaking hands but longing to confirm that he was real. “Are you…?”

“Are you afraid of me, Father?” asked Daniel, still smiling.

“No,” said Father Burke automatically. “No, Daniel, I….”

He was touching Daniel now. He didn’t know when that had happened, but his hands were on the boy’s waist — and he was real. Oh, he was real, warm and solid beneath Father Burke’s hands.

“I missed you, Father,” Daniel said. Each time he opened his mouth, Father Burke caught a glimpse of sharp teeth. 

“Missed me?” he echoed. His voice was insubstantial, barely audible to his own ears. “Missed me — but—”

His voice died, clogged with grief and guilt and sudden cold dread. He felt small hands on the buttons of his coat, snaking down to his trousers, cupping him through his pants. He couldn’t seem to move. He couldn’t even look down to confirm what he felt; his eyes were glued on Daniel’s, and Daniel was still smiling. 

“I _ missed _ you,” Daniel said again, and when he squeezed, Father Burke’s cock twitched in response, against his will. 

“No,” he said, the word choked and small. But he could do nothing to fight back; his limbs were heavy and useless, incapable of the slightest movement. There was a sound like water rushing in his ears. 

He had never known another person’s touch, not as an adult. It seemed unfair that this would be his first, that he should be defiled by a ghost, by a delusion. By a child who had died under his care and now would not release him.

He felt Daniel’s hands on his trousers, unbuttoning them, exposing Father Burke’s cock to the cold night air. He felt shame coursing through him, hot enough to drive back the chill, as he grew hard.

He closed his eyes. He whispered a prayer.

God did not answer. 


End file.
